


Never Surrender

by MarzgaPerez



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 05x10, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, First Dates, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mickey makes the Sizzler salad bar his bitch, Protective Mickey Milkovich, Sammi doesn’t win, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 05:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21010169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Season 05x10 Fix-It (of sorts). What if Ian and Mickey hadn’t gone back to Ian’s place the night Sammi ratted him out?





	Never Surrender

Maybe it was the nostalgia from that ballfield fuck that changed the direction their feet carried them. Maybe it was the prospect of Mickey catching one of his brothers at home and shaking him down for an unpaid debt. Or maybe it was the state of tension in the Gallagher house with Sammi lurking around, wanting to cause chaos wherever she could, though she’d been kind to Ian earlier in the day. Whatever it was that led them to the Milkovich house that evening, instead of Wallace Street, saved Ian’s ass. And Mickey’s too, for that matter, because without Ian in his life to give him something to fight for, he was liable to do something stupid. 

Bloodied with sweat-soaked and grass-stained clothing but high on life, Ian had felt invincible on that stroll over to Mickey’s place, like a snake shedding its skin in the springtime. Ian knew this high was different from one of his manic episodes, and yes, being drunk and banging Mickey was a big part of it, but he’d also seen the thinnest ray of light shining through what had been an otherwise gloomy, medication-induced hazy existence. 

They were belting out some ‘80s karaoke tunes and goofing around for the first time in weeks. Ian was seeing his life with Mickey the way it could be and blurted out the thing he’d been wanting to ask Mickey for a long time—_we’ve never been on an actual date, how about we go on one? _

_ Like, now? _Mickey had asked, seeming to like the idea while simultaneously trying to refute Ian’s claim. Surely they'd been on a date before.

But Ian was certain they hadn’t, because he refused to count hanging out in abandoned buildings, meeting for a quick fuck, or going on heists with Mickey and his brothers as dates. They’d come close with the sleepover at Mickey’s house from over a year ago, watching movies and [almost] snuggling up together on the couch—God, that would have been amazing—but then the next morning...that _ thing _hadhappened with that fuckin’ piece of shit Terry.

Ian tried to shake the memory as fast as it had come on, turning his attention back to Mickey who was nodding enthusiastically about the date idea and throwing out suggestions like “Sizzler.”

“Perfect!” Ian practically shouted, realizing how hungry he was but not even sure that restaurant still existed.

Wherever they ended up, Ian realized they should get cleaned up first. He nudged Mickey on the way up the steps to the Milkovich house. “Can I borrow a shirt? Grab a shower?”

Mickey had his ear pressed against the front door, listening for any sounds from his dickhead brothers. Ian knew that Terry was still in jail, or he wouldn’t have agreed for them to stop over.

“Shirt, yes. But fuck the shower. I’m starvin’.” He jiggled the knob on the door until it gave way and pushed inside, signaling to Ian that the coast was clear. 

The place smelled of stale cigarettes, and the front room appeared to have been ransacked, though Ian knew it had probably looked like this since about the time Svetlana moved out with Yev. 

He made a beeline for the bathroom, pushing Mickey out of the way to have first dibs on the toilet. 

“Fucker!” Mickey yelled from the hallway, and Ian chuckled to himself as he lifted the lid of the toilet to take a piss. 

“Found you something to wear,” Mickey appeared in the doorway waving a shirt at the redhead as he was zipping up. 

Ian stepped into the hallway and shucked his coat off, noticing that Mickey was watching him intently. “What?” he asked, one eyebrow raised and a smirk in the corner of his mouth. “You wanna go again?”

“You wish, Gallagher.” Mickey’s growling stomach seemed to be overriding the demands of his pulsing dick. “Come to the kitchen. We’ll clean up and go on our date. Plenty of time for fuckin’ later.”

Ian obliged, following him into the kitchen and changing into the gray t-shirt Mickey had found for him. “Think we’ll pass the dress code?”

Mickey shrugged as he turned on the faucet to dampen a dish towel. “You know, shoes and shirts required. It’s Sizzler, not the Taj Mahal. So long as were payin’ customers, no one’s gonna give a fuck.”

_ Paying customers. _Another reason to skip dating and go straight to fucking. Cheaper that way. Ian felt like an idiot. Here he’d suggested the date but probably didn’t have enough money on him to buy a cup of coffee.

“Relax, man. I’m taking _you_ out.” Mickey pushed him onto a chair and straddled his legs, planting a slow wet kiss on his lips. Before Ian could sink his fingers into Mickey’s ass and grind against him, the brunet was standing beside him, damp cloth poised and ready to wipe the blood from Ian’s face. “Let’s get you pretty.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Before they’d hopped on the L, Ian was tempted to shotgun another beer. The effects from the earlier one were wearing off, leaving him to wonder if he could actually sustain the euphoria from before. But one look at Mickey seated next to him on the L with his bruised lip—which he had coming to him with all his pussy caretaker bullshit—and his rumpled hair—which wasn’t cooperating in any particular direction—and Ian felt a sense of calm spreading through his chest, down his arm, and all the way to the tips of his fingers, which found their way on top of Mickey’s as he threaded their hands together. Two more stops, and they’d be at the Sizzler, the last one still in business after the franchise went bankrupt a few years back. Mickey had called ahead to confirm they were open.

Back in the day, Frank and Monica used to rave about Sizzler. They’d go on and on about the all-you-can-eat salad bar and the juicy cuts of steak cooked to order, had even promised to take Fiona, Lip, and Ian to dinner there one summer evening as a family. They’d gotten as far as the corner store down the block when their parents decided to pay a visit to their dealer instead, abandoning the kids with five dollars to buy hotdogs and buns and that was only because Fiona had insisted on money for food. 

The restaurant could be a total dive with a salad bar of wilted lettuce and canned pineapple chunks for all Ian cared. This was going to be their first of many dates—restaurants, movies, walks in the park, all that shit that couples do, only it wouldn’t be ordinary because nothing was ever ordinary when Mickey was involved.

They got off at their stop, racing each other down the steps from the L, backpacks flung over their shoulders and laughing like a couple of teenagers. Ian felt the rush of the wind and the cold evening air filling his lungs, propelling him forward instead of knocking him down. He was free, and he could go anywhere and do anything, and nothing was going to bring him down. 

Not even the shitty looking building with the half lit Sizzler sign, the dreary front entrance, and the middle aged cashier standing at the order station, looking like she’d just as rather be cleaning up behind the elephants at a circus. 

“What’ll it be?” she snarked, hand on her hip with a heavy sigh, as if she was being majorly inconvenienced. Ian and Mickey exchanged glances of _ so, should we stay here or go somewhere else_, and then shrugs of _ eh, how bad could it be? _

Mickey ordered for them, two drinks, two salad bars with New York strips and loaded baked potatoes. He was kind enough to ask Ian how he liked his steak. _ Medium, _he replied, finding the whole thing absolutely adorable, surreal even, that they were on this date, but he liked how Mickey was taking care of him.

After paying, they picked out a booth in an empty corner of the restaurant, and then the debate over whether they should sit on the same side or opposite sides commenced. Naturally, Ian was team “same side”, and Mickey voted for opposite sides, quickly glancing around the restaurant and pointing out how no one else was sitting next to each other.

“Yeah...but they’re not us. And I betcha no one else is on their very first date.” Ian punctuated the “very” and the “first” by jabbing Mickey’s chest with his index finger while giving him a playful smile.

“Fuuuuck. Fine. Let’s just sit down so we don’t look like idiots.” They dumped their jackets and backpacks on the vacant side of the booth and waited for the waitress to bring over their drinks and salad plates.

A frazzled looking woman with heavy makeup came over to the table and slammed their drinks down. “Hey there! I’m Dinah. First time dining with us at the Sizzler?” Her eyes were darting back and forth between them, and Ian could tell Mickey was still embarrassed about their seating arrangement. 

“First time here, and our first date,” Ian chirped, anticipating the hard nudge from Mickey against his knee. 

“My stars! That is too sweet.” Dinah clasped her hands over her heart. “Did you tell Barbara when you came in?” 

Mickey chuckled. “You talkin’ about the broad at the counter? She wasn’t much of a conversationalist.”

Dinah threw her head back and laughed. “No, I guess not. Well, you leave everything to me. I’m sure I can find something sweet for you boys. Here are your salad plates, get as much as you want, but save room for dinner and dessert. I’ll try to let you two be as much as possible,” she squawked.

Mickey got up and handed Ian his salad plate, muttering something about kicking his ass later on. He was clearly ready for some grub, heading over to the salad bar with an “every man for himself” kind of pace and loading up his plate with lettuce, vegetables, and three different kinds of cheese. Then came the croutons and bacon and the drizzling of the blue cheese dressing on top of the mountain he’d created. His salad was practically a work of art.

Ian made his plate, not nearly as impressive, but enough to quell his hunger. They sat together in comfortable silence, munching on their food, with Mickey pausing every few minutes, half-chewed lettuce in his mouth, to say things like, “this is really nice”, “we should have done this a long time ago”, and “this food is actually pretty good, considering how dumpy it is in here”.

Ian was loving every second of it, even the occasional waves from Dinah and now Barbara from the register, as they sat together, bored, waiting idly for whatever their next task would be. 

Soon, Dinah rose from her perch and headed towards the kitchen, possibly to retrieve their dinner order, given that she didn’t seem to have any other customers at the moment. Mickey was nearly finished with his salad and considering going back for another round when Dinah emerged from the kitchen with a tray of food balanced on her shoulder. 

“Steak time!” she announced gleefully, placing the steaming plates of food in front of them, along with bottles of Heinz 57 and A1. “Pick your poison,” she quipped, and added, “Can I get you boys anything else?”

Mickey and Ian both shook their heads, and after she walked away, Mickey realized he’d had his napkin on the table the whole time. “Why didn’t you tell me, Gallagher? Forgot to put this on my lap.”

Ian smiled, patting the napkin already on his lap. “Sorry, Mick. Some of us have class, and some of us—”

“Ha! Class. Fuck class,” he retorted, shoving his elbow playfully into Ian’s upper arm as he cut into this steak. A thin red juice bubbled over the sides of his steak. “Ah...rare.”

“Yeah, I see something rare alright.” Ian had his knife and fork ready to cut into his own steak when he heard his cell phone chime. “Shit, meant to turn that off.”

Mickey, tasting his first bite of steak and practically moaning over the flavor, said, “Better see who it is. Maybe Fiona’s worried about you. Tell her you’re with me.”

Ian nodded and checked the text, scanning the number and realizing it was from the burned phone the Gallagher kids kept hidden in the bathroom upstairs for emergencies. 

_ “Don’t come home, Ian. They’re lookin’ for ya. Sammi turned you in.” _

The phone slipped out of Ian’s hand, and when he tried to catch it, his elbow bumped against the table, causing his fork and knife to clatter onto the table. In the grand scheme of things, it was typical restaurant noise, but Mickey looked up from slicing into his steak and realized that all the color had drained from Ian’s face, which was astounding since he was already pale. 

“What is it? Steak overcooked?” he joked, though he knew right away that something was very wrong. He set his fork down on the side of his plate. 

“Here,” responded Ian weakly, passing his phone over to Mickey. “Look.” 

Mickey’s brow was furrowed, and he had his thumb nail resting between his front teeth. “What does this mean?”

Ian was speechless._ Why would she...how could she? _ He passed his fingers gingerly over the rough gauze on his hand, feeling the rawness of the burn and the dull pain beneath his light touch. Sammi had pulled her Florence Nightingale shit on him and gotten him to confess. _ That bitch. _

“I think it means, she, uh...notified someone about my whereabouts. You know, after I, uh, went AWOL.”

Before Mickey could ask any more questions, Ian’s phone began buzzing, and a call was coming through from the burned cell phone number. 

“I, uh…” 

“Take the call, Ian,” Mickey insisted. 

Ian nodded and held the phone close to his ear. “Hello? What’s happening?” He was starting at the plate of food in front of him, wanting to sink into the vinyl of the booth and disappear, recognizing the worry in Fiona’s voice and knowing that he’d fucked up. 

“Fucking Sammi! Ian? Can you talk?” Fiona’s voice was muffled and frantic.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Listen, I don’t have long. Told ‘em I needed to take a shit. Couple of guys are here from the Army, wanting to take you in. Sammi called them and told them she saw you leave the house with Mickey.”

“We, uh, went—”

“Don’t say another word. You gotta get outta town for awhile. Wait until this thing blows over.”

“Fiona, I—”

“Shit, they’re coming up the stairs. I’ll call you later. Love you, babe. Be careful.”

“Fi…” The line went dead. 

Ian’s head was spinning, he thought he might pass out, and then he felt Mickey’s strong, steady hands grasping his shoulders. “Tell me,” he said sternly.

“I, uh...oh, fuck.” The walls were closing in around him, and Ian’s thoughts randomly turned to the fact that their food was getting cold. “Let’s just eat, okay? You bought us this nice dinner, and—”

“Dinah can wrap this up to go. Tell me.”

Ian gulped, still wanting to keep this earth-shattering information to himself. If he didn’t say it out loud, he could pretend it wasn’t actually happening. 

But seeing the concern in Mickey’s eyes, he decided to spill his guts. “I’m a dumbass, okay? I came home from the restaurant today with my hand all fucked up, and Sammi was being really nice, which is why I never should have trusted her, but then I told her about my scar from when I was in the Army and how all that shit went down with the helicopter, and I guess she decided to turn me in, and now there are fucking soldiers at my house, waiting to ambush me, and take me away, I guess, so Fiona says I need to get out of town.” His lips were trembling at this point, and he was trying to catch his breath, given that he hadn’t spoken that many words in weeks.

“Okay.” Mickey rubbed his hands over his face. 

Dinah picked this inopportune moment to come over and check on them. “Everything okay with your meal?” Surely, she had been watching them and realizing something wasn’t going according to plan. 

“It’s great,” Mickey said cheerfully, but Ian knew that look. He recognized the exhaustion behind those baby blue eyes. Mickey didn’t deserve his mess, didn’t deserve to have his meal ruined, didn’t deserve to be with such a fucking idiot. 

“We’ll probably need to go boxes though. My boyfriend just got a call from his sister. Family emergency.”

“Boyfriend?” stammered Dinah. “But I thought this was your first date?”

“Yeah, it is. Funny, right?” Ian was impressed with how composed Mickey sounded. “We’ve been together for years, but never had a real date.”

“Well...okay, then. And the dessert?” Dinah seemed confused and disappointed with the turn of events.

“To go, please.”

Ian remained motionless but was on the verge of bolting upright and telling Mickey he was calling Fiona and going home to turn himself in.

Mickey interrupted his frantic thoughts. “Need to make a call.”

“Wait. What?”

“Box up our food. I’ll meet you outside.”

“Mick?”

“You got enough for tip?” 

“Uh, I dunno—”

“Here. I got it.” Mickey flipped open his wallet and tossed a twenty dollar bill on the table. He looked over at Ian’s backpack. “Got your meds with you?”

“Well, yeah. I’ve been carrying them with me, didn’t want Liam getting into ‘em.”

“Good.” Mickey leaned over and stroked Ian’s cheek tenderly. “Listen, Ian. She doesn’t win. You hear me? She doesn’t get to destroy you. We’re doing what your sister said.”

Ian opened his mouth to protest. _ No, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening._

“Mick, I can’t let you. What about...what about Yev?” 

“Sit tight. I’ll be back.”

“But Mick, you have to think about—”

“I swear to God, Ian.” Mickey’s voice was cracking, and he lifted the redhead’s chin slowly until their eyes met. “I’m not gonna lose you again. You have to trust me. Just stay here. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

It was probably only five minutes that Mickey was gone, but it seemed more like an hour. Dinah came over to the table with styrofoam containers and a plastic bag with a box inside. “Well, shucks, honey. You barely touched your steak. I hope everything’s okay with your sister. Life just isn’t fair sometimes.”

Ian nodded sadly but didn’t reply. He was oddly mesmerized by the way the butter from his potato had melted down the side, forming a translucent puddle on the plate. 

Another minute passed, and Mickey was back inside, breathless from being out in the cold without his jacket. “Ian, I thought I told you to box this up. Got about thirty minutes before Iggy brings the car. Might as well go get some supplies.”

“Supplies?” asked Ian, starting to feel a dull ache in the back of his neck. 

“Yeah. For our road trip. We’re going South. Let that bitch try to fuck with us now.”

Ian shook his head. “No, Mick. I’m not gonna let her do this. No!” He shouted, pounding his fist on the table like an enraged toddler. Fortunately, Dinah must have been back in the kitchen, or she would have come running to see what was the matter. 

“Ian!” Mickey hissed. “Quit it. I told you already we’re in this together. I’m not gonna let you—”

“We’re eating our steak.” 

“W-what? The fuck you talking about?”

“It’s not as hot now as when she brought it out, but we’re gonna finish our date.”

“Ian…”

“I’m serious, Mickey. Put your napkin on your lap, and eat your damn dinner, and I’m gonna eat mine because you were nice enough to take me out and order for me, but just so you know, for next time...I don’t like chives on my baked potato.”

Ian could tell Mickey didn’t know what to say or how to react, but he needed this. He needed to take the reins on what was left of their evening, because while he was planning to go along with whatever Mickey had in mind for getting the fuck out of town, there were no guarantees for what was coming next or how he would handle it. 

“And I think some rolls would be nice, don’t you? Let’s tell Dinah when we see her. I think she forgot to bring them.” Ian picked up his fork and knife and cut a small corner off his steak, bringing it to his lips and chewing on the still warm, moderately tender piece of meat. “It’s pretty good. Just needs salt.”

While Ian proceeded to season his steak and cut off a few more pieces, he pretended not to notice that Mickey was staring at him, mouth agape, a look of bewilderment on his face, particularly when Ian waved Dinah over and explained that they had a few minutes to spare, that no one was in grave danger, and could she please bring some fresh rolls to the table.

Mickey finally turned his attention back to his steak and began eating it, along with the loaded potato and then the hot, buttery rolls.

They began chatting in voices just above a whisper, Ian apologizing again for the disruption to their date, and Mickey telling him to knock it off, that he knew this was gonna be hard and shitty to leave town, but they had to give it a try, didn’t they? He told Ian that no one could take care of him as good, love him as much, and Ian told Mickey to quit being such a damn sap, though his heart fluttered at the mention of the word _ love._

Mickey threw out different cities and states where they could go, maybe even Mexico if Ian didn’t mind the drive. _ It’d be the safest, _ he said, but Ian wasn’t ready to put that much distance between him and his family, nor did he want Mickey to be in that position. 

“I’ll have to face this eventually,” Ian concluded, taking one more bite of his steak, and planning to take the rest with them. They’d probably drive all night without stopping and might get hungry. 

“Maybe,” said Mickey. “But you’re not doing this now. Not when you’re starting to feel better. And if we deal with this later, you can lawyer up and not get drug out of your home like some kind of deadbeat criminal because of a demented pyschopath and her thirst for revenge.”

“Yeah,” agreed Ian. “Fuck yeah.”

They boxed up their leftovers and added them to the bag with the dessert. That would be a fun travel game, trying to guess what was inside the box from Dinah. 

Mickey handed Dinah her tip directly, and they both thanked her for being kind, even getting a smile and a handful of mints from Barbara as they headed out into the cold night. 

Iggy arrived a minute or two later with a plain looking sedan he’d lifted and already changed the plates on. He also gave Mickey what appeared to be a wad of cash, followed by a bro hug and a nod towards Ian, which Ian returned, along with a “thank you”.

After Ian settled into the passenger seat, Mickey climbed into the driver’s side and adjusted the rearview mirror to his liking. Ian couldn’t take his eyes off of Mickey, his gaze full of gratitude and fear at the same time, but mostly love. Love for this man who had dropped everything for him, not just today, but many times over the months leading up to today. 

For the first couple of years they’d been together, or whatever it was, Ian had pushed and pleaded and accommodated to be with Mickey. The shoe was on the other foot now, but Ian had a moment of clarity, as they drove beyond the city limits, going south, going somewhere, that it was time for both of them to have what they needed. What they wanted. Something told him that this change of scenery, though forced upon them, was going to be a good thing.

Ian stretched his arm out, massaging Mickey’s neck, and leaned over to kiss his shoulder. “Thanks, Mick. Just...thanks.”

“You got it, Gallagher.” Mickey rubbed the side of his cheek against Ian’s knuckles. “So...winner takes all. What’s in the box? I’m guessing chocolate pie with meringue.”

“No way. It’s gotta be cheesecake.”

They were both wrong. As they would discover about two hours into their trip, Dinah had gifted them two chocolate chip cannolis, the perfect dessert for when you’re on the run.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, E & K for the feedback/beta-ing! 😘


End file.
